


You'll be okay

by ReaperDuckling



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Healthy Relationships, Humor, Interspecies Romance, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Semi-Slow Burn, asexual Kallus, awkward crushing, first romance, lots of silly headcanons ahoy, mentioned Hera/Kanan, prompt collection, sometimes probably pretty angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-09-30 16:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10166852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaperDuckling/pseuds/ReaperDuckling
Summary: A collection of short prompt-stories, in no particular order, about Zeb, Kallus and a cacopohony of confused, messy emotions.Set mostly after episode 16, season 3, in an AU where Kallus decided to flee the Empire with the Ghost-crew after all.Feel free to leave a prompt in the comments if you like!





	1. Not-entirely-human

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “Someone in the group is not-entirely-human”  
> Or: “Kallus spends a lot of time analyzing Kanan and Hera’s relationship, but is too dumb to understand why, even though the answer is glaringly obvious (it’s called “His Crush on Garazeb” and it’s big and obnoxious and very, very loud: just like Kallus item of affection).”
> 
> This is set about two-three weeks after Kallus has been accepted into the Ghost-crew.

Garazeb Orrelios is not-entirely-human.   
Neither is Hera Syndulla.  
Kallus is sitting in the Ghosts common area, looking at the two of them talk in hushed voices by the com-center. He’s pretending to be occupied polishing his weapon.   
It’s still such an odd thing to think about for him, after having spent so many years indoctrinated with the Imperial belief that anything not-entirely-human is, at a lack of better words… inferior.   
Filthy, almost.   
Interspecies relationships has always been frowned upon within human cultures, especially by conservationists. And the Empire is about as conservative a government as can be. It is now a crime to be involved with humanoids of other species: it’s considered treason against the preservation of the human race.   
Though Kallus hasn’t spent much time pondering his romantic aspirations, he’s lived for many years thinking that humans are superior to other alien species and that interactions with these should be limited to a minimum. Any contact with them should be with the intention to educate and civilize their societies, bring them into the light and the protection of the Empire. And if that fails? Well if you’re not a friend of the Empire, then you’re obviously an enemy and you should be dealt with accordingly.   
Kallus tries to shake out of that train of thought as quickly as possible. There’s too many lasat-skeletons in his closet.   
He takes a closer look at Hera and thinks of her relationship with Kanan.   
Seeing them together has a tendency to feel… strange, for Kallus.  
They think they’re being secretive with their relationship; sleeping in different bedrooms, never touching or looking at each other for too long, or with too much affection. But sometimes, one of them will slip. The warmth in Hera’s smile will grow too radiant to just be plain platonic affection, or Kallus hand will linger too long on her shoulder.   
Never to mention the constant bickering: they’re acting like an old married couple more often than not!   
The funniest thing is that they seem to think they’ve successfully fooled everyone. It took less than a couple of days for Kallus to figure out the nature of their relationship - fact is that it’s one of the hottest topics on the ship! There’s even bets going on behind their backs of when   
1) someone will find them making out in the com-room   
2) they’ll come clean and admit that they’re lovers   
and   
3) when Hera will get pregnant and give birth to a tiny human/twi’lek child   
That last one always makes something uncomfortable stir in Kallus stomach. To start with, babies have always made him feel awkward and out of place  
(how do you handle a baby?   
It’s like an entire science to it! The tiny little thing can’t even hold its head up by itself for Karabast sake! Never to mention diaper-changes, burping, feeding, puking, crying… it’s a living nightmare with impossibly big eyes and even more impossibly sharp toenails!),   
so he’s not sure how he’d deal with living with one in such close quarters aboard the ship. Then there’s the Imperial-doctrines, their teachings are still seared deeply into him. Can a human and a twi’lek even have a child together? They’re both humanoid species, so it’s not entirely unlikely   
(it might be something like a gualama and a gualaar mating. Rare, but not unheard of. The offspring would be sterile, but otherwise healthy),   
but, to his knowledge, there are no records of it ever happening.   
Then again, if there ever were then those records had probably been torched long ago.  
He sneaks another look at the two aliens.   
They’re looking at a map, strategically hidden from Kallus eyes by Zeb’s big, broad back. They still don’t completely trust him.   
And really, why should they? He’s been hunting them for years, bringing them nothing but pain. Sure, he provided them with some useful intelligence while he was still with the Imperial Fleet, but it was never enough to make amends   
(he looks at Zeb and feels a cold, heavy lump form in his chest).   
It never will be.   
He’ll do his best to help the rebellion though, without endangering too many Imperial civilians. It’s difficult to balance, but he’s used to walking on thin threads and making tough decisions by now. He’s ready to lay his life down for the cause. Just not someone innocents: not anymore, never again.   
And though he’s not exactly on the Ghost to make friends, he’s willing to at least… try to keep an open mind. If not for his own sake, then at least for Zeb’s.   
He has a lot of respect for Hera Syndulla.   
She’s a brilliant tactician, an excellent pilot and a formidable captain. Never to mention the fact that she’s managed to keep the ragtag crew together and alive for as long as she has! If Kallus had ever been put in charge of such a rowdy bunch of adult (or not quite adult) children, he’s not sure what he’d throw into hyperspace first: them or himself.   
Though Kallus thoughts towards the twi’lek are completely professional, he understands the attraction that Kanan feels towards her.   
And seeing them together sometimes makes him feel… like they belong together. Despite their differing species.   
They complement each other.   
He sneaks another look at Zeb, real quick, and feels his face heat up for a second. He looks back down on his weapon, suddenly extremely intent on removing that one stubborn spot that just… won’t….   
(there’s another lump forming in his stomach, warm but just as heavy.   
Did he just imagine that or did Zeb’s ears twitch? Does he know that he’s watching him?  
Karabast, this is embarrassing! He’s a grown man, but he’s acting like some love-struck teen! He can feel the blush burn against his cheeks, why won’t it just-)   
disappear?!   
“Hey”   
He drops the gun.   
Looks up at Zeb, and suddenly he’s struck by just how alien the man is   
(over two meters tall, purple skin, with tufts of fur growing down his neck and covering his arms that are covered in deep, dark stripes.   
Sometimes, he’ll mutter words in lasan because he can’t remember them in basic, or because there’s no accurate translation, or simply because he feels like it.   
Kallus wishes that he understood, but it feels too insensitive to learn the language of a species whose genocide he’s responsible for, so he doesn’t intend to ask).   
The lasat is giving him an awkward grin, hand on his neck as he’s looking from Kallus face, to the gun on the floor, back to his face.   
Kallus picks the gun up before he’s had a chance to comment on it.   
“Hello Zeb…” he says, and tries to muster a smile. The nickname still rolls strangely from his tongue   
(too short, too familiar, too fond, he hasn’t called anyone by nickname since childhood)   
and after many years of servicing the Empire he’s not really… used… to smiling   
(the thought stings a little. But just a little).   
“I was just wondering… I’m getting kind of hungry…” the lasat stutters, clearly nervous, but eager. “Wanna go grab something to eat?”   
Kallus feels the warm lump dissolve inside of him, spreading a pleasant humm all throughout his body.   
This time, the smile comes naturally.   
“I’d love to.”   
They spend a couple of seconds just looking at each other, fond and at peace   
(and Kallus is falling so hopelessly,   
hopelessly in love,   
he could drown in those green eyes)   
before Zeb grunts, embarrassed, and then Kallus blush and drops the gun again and they’re both a couple of awkward messes, gathering up Kallus things before they leave for the kitchen together.   
Meanwhile, Hera is looking at them disappear with a bemused smirk.  
“So…” she says, once they’re gone. “How long do you think it will take before they’ll come clean and tell us that they’re dating?”   
Kanan emerges from behind the corner and plants a light kiss on her forehead.   
“Give them time, dear. They’re both stubborn as a couple of gualaars… We’ll probably find them making out in the com-room a couple of times before they ever admit to anything.”   
Hera snorts out a laugh and Kanan smile down at her, way too warm and affectionate to be with anything but love.


	2. No Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or: “PTSD is a bitch”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is "no pressure" and this chapter is set a couple of days after Kallus has left the Imperial Fleet

Kallus’ ears are ringing.   
There’s a cloud of thick, black smoke covering the ground around him   
(as he tries to draw breath   
he can feel parts of it coil its way down his throat  
like a big, fat snake),   
and it's making him cough until there’s tears in his eyes.   
He grapples blindly after his blaster rifle, but once he finds it he realize that it’s stuck in someone else’s hand.   
There’s a body lying right next to him.   
The sight makes him want to flee or scream or cry, but he’s rooted in place, frozen solid by the shock and the fear   
(“Who is this?”   
The face was burnt so badly in the explosion, there’s hardly anything left of it  
“Who are you?”).   
There’s movement in the shadows, so Kallus force the blaster out of his fallen comrades hands and clutches it to his chest, heart hammering.  
As he tries to take in the smoldering surroundings, he realize that the dark, heavy looking objects around him is what remains of his platoon.   
Most of them are unconscious   
(dead?),  
but a few are moving, slowly, sluggish, as they lay on the ground. There’s the sound of coughing and, somewhere out there, someone is crying.   
Kallus tries, desperately tries, to get to his feet: but his body feels impossibly heavy and, as he struggles, a searing pain suddenly flashes through him like a bolt of lightning.   
He falls to the ground with a scream. The world is spinning and he feels sick with pain and fear.   
Suddenly, the cold, smooth sound of a shot ripples through the air.   
The crying stops.   
So does Kallus breathing.   
Heart in his throat, the young platoon captain looks up from the ground and he sees a person.   
Only it’s not a person, but a monster.   
It’s walking from soldier to soldier, tearing the helmets from their heads   
(there’s Alyssa, and Dameon, Taric and Neo)   
before it puts a strange, spear-like weapon between their eyes   
(bo-rifle)   
and pulls the trigger.   
Some are unconscious, some only whimper, some cry, or try to fight or flee or some tangled mess of both.   
They all die.   
One after the other, Kallus platoon is being executed.   
And Kallus is frozen   
(he doesn’t even notice the tears that’s streaming down his cheeks,   
forming rivers in the mud and the blood that’s covering his face).   
As the monster approach him, he executes the burn-victim first.   
Kallus can’t watch, he’s studying its feet instead   
(four fat toes digging into the earth,   
striped ankles   
purple fur).   
The beast sits down before him and forces his head up to face it with a large, strong hand.   
He feels it press the rifle against his forehead   
(it feels almost like relief   
let him die here, quick and painless, with the rest of his men   
let him rest),   
and he waits.   
And he waits.   
And he waits.   
But the shot never comes.   
He looks up at the monster   
(the lasat)   
and through the smoke, the pain and the tears, he finds himself staring into a pair of vibrant green eyes.  
They glisten like gemstones in the darkness, cold and cruel.   
Then, they’re gone.   
Kallus breathes.   
Muffles a scream.   
And sobs until he feels like he’ll die from it, like he’ll fall apart in the seams and crumble like dust. 

He wakes up with a scream stuck in his throat and a big, strong hand on his cheek.   
“Hey, hey, hey! You’re alright, Kallus, you’re alright!”   
“Don’t touch me!” He sobs and the hand immediately disappears.   
“‘m sorry, sorry! I just…”   
Kallus breathing is heavy and ragged as he tries to collect himself.   
There’s a headache pounding against his temples and he’s covered in sweat.   
He feels sick, small, vulnerable, so he tries to cover himself up as much as possible with the bedcover.  
Zeb is sitting crouched on the floor in front of him: big, vibrant green eyes glistening in the darkness   
(and they’re so much like its,   
yet nothing like them at all).   
“I heard ya’ dreaming. “ the lasat finally says, and the way he’s looking at Kallus then, with so much tenderness and care, is making another sob bubble up his throat.   
He feels pathetic. He finds himself wishing that Zeb would go away, but not really.   
He just… doesn’t want him to see him this way, doesn’t want to think of him as…   
Kallus reaches out and, gently, covers Zeb’s eyes with his hand.  
“Please don’t look at me right now.” He whispers.   
He feels the eyelids close and pull his hand away.   
“Can I touch ya’?” Zeb asks.   
The words make him feel tired and heavy, but a little bit warmer.   
He answers by sneaking his hand into Zeb's, that intertwine their fingers gently   
(The warmth grow a little bit more  
it’s like a flame in his chest, fickle but nice  
Very nice  
The headache is dissipating).   
Kallus lays his head back on the pillow and pulls the hand to his chest.   
His heart is beating into Zeb’s fingers.   
The thought makes him chuckle a little.   
“Do yaaaaaa…” Zeb drawls, clearly nervous. “Wanna talk… about it?”   
“No.”   
Kallus close his eyes.   
“‘Aight.” The lasat sighs, then sits down on the edge of the bed and puts his free hand into the humans hair. The weight of it is comforting. As Kallus feel Zeb draw small, gentle circles into his skull, he begins to drift back to sleep. “I’ll wait ‘til yer ready. No pressure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a prompt if you like! :)


	3. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chopper is the devil incarnate and Kallus is a lot more immature than he thinks he is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a silly little thing that took way too long to write   
> Prompt commissioned by Jingkabell. Hope you like it!

Kallus doesn’t do jealousy.   
Jealousy is for children, squabbling over toys or a parental figures attention. It’s for teenagers, madly in love with themselves, someone else or both.   
Kallus, however, is an adult. A highly decorated (former) officer, a battle-experienced soldier and a respectable man.   
He does not   
do   
jealousy.   
And he definitely   
definitely   
would never in his life be jealous of something so absurd, so utterly illogical as a stuck up, out of control astromech.   
It’s been three weeks since he was whisked away from the Empire, nineteen days since he was officially welcomed into the ranks of the rebellion and ten days since he’d come aboard the Ghost as one of its members (after a lot of nagging from Zeb, to both him and to the Ghost-crew, Kallus suspects).   
Settling in turned out to be no less difficult or awkward than anyone could expect.   
He’s been given access to Sabines old shuttle, since she’s no longer an official part of the crew. It feels strange sleeping in her bed, with the graffiti she left covering every inch of the room. It makes him feel like an intruder  
(a broken old man, trapped in a young  
incredibly talented   
idealistic girls fantasies  
it feels like he’s tainting them with his very presence).   
The mean looks he keeps getting from Ezra doesn’t really help. Hera and Kanan are civil enough around him, but Kallus isn’t stupid, he can tell how awkward and stilted their conversations get whenever he’s around. They don’t trust him, nor do they seem to particularly like him, and Kallus doesn’t blame them.   
The worst of them all though is Chopper.   
Though the astromech has been ordered by Hera (the only one on the ship that the damn thing listens to) to “be nice”, something must be missing in the old trashcans circuitry or something because   
nice?   
Is not what it's being.   
Ever since Kallus climbed aboard the notorious Ghost of the Phoenix Squadron, Chopper have made his life into a living hell.   
It’s electrocuted him, locked him in his room, tripped him, electrocuted him, thrown food at him, thrown ap-5 at him, attempted to throw Ezra at him, electrocuted him over and over and over until Kallus has become frightened of his own shadow. Now Zeb keeps trying to protect him from the murder-mech and Hera has given it a “stern talk”, but to no avail. There’s seemingly no end in sight to the hatred that the astromech is capable of.   
...speaking of Zeb.   
He’s sitting hunched over Chopper right now, wiping it clean with a rag after they’d gotten into a dispute during dinner   
(Chopper had been sneaking up on Kallus to zap him,   
as per fragging usual,   
except this time Zeb noticed   
and tipped the table and all the food over the astromech trying to get to it.   
Hera had been so angry that she’d made the Lasat clean everything up, promised to do the dishes for the rest of the week and, ultimately, clean up Chopper).   
And Kallus is not jealous.   
Even if Zeb and the mech are sitting intimately close to each other, talking (beeping) in hushed voices. Even if their relationship is established, friendly, albeit teasing, whereas Kallus own relationship to the Lasat is… dubious. At best.   
Kallus still doesn’t know how to act around Garazeb.   
When he’d first arrived on the ship after being rescued, he’d accidentally tumbled headfirst into the Lasats arms. They’d looked at each other and Kallus heart had stopped for a second   
a minute   
a lifetime.   
Zeb had grinned, a huge smile full of teeth, put his one hand over the other and bowed his head down towards Kallus: the same unfamiliar greeting that he’d given him back on the icemoon.   
And Kallus had laughed and mirrored him, this time close enough that their foreheads were touching.   
Things had seemed simple enough back then.   
Then came the meetings with commander Sato and and Mon Mothma, the uncertainty   
(where would he live? How would he serve?   
And most importantly: how could he use the information he was sitting on in favor of the rebellion, without endangering any civilians?),   
and then the nightmares. The long nights trying to stay awake   
(just a couple of minutes more,  
a couple more   
a couple more)  
to escape the monsters in his mind.   
He’d struggled through it alone, in the beginning.   
Now, aboard Ghost, he always has company.   
It didn’t take long for Zeb to understand what was going on. He’d been through it himself, after all.   
So now, more often than not, he’ll stay up with Kallus until late into the night: joking, sharing stories or drinking   
(tea or sometimes something a little stronger,   
Kallus finds that alcohol helps against the really bad dreams   
“Just don’t get too attached to this shit... “ Zeb muttered once. “It won’t keep the demons at bay forever. ‘might just make ‘em stronger, in the long run.”). Some nights, the Lasat will curl up into the bunk above Kallus, so that if the human wakes up crying then there’s always a hand there, warm, comforting and ready for the grabbing.   
Their conversations during the days, however, have a tendency of becoming… somewhat stilted. Awkward.   
Sometimes Kallus fears that he spent so much time talking to Zeb before he joined the rebellion, through secret messages and codes, that they’ve somehow… run out of words.   
It scares him   
(the silence).   
It scares him more than he’s ready to admit to himself.   
The truth is that Kallus is confused. About a lot of things.   
He’s confused about his purpose, about himself, about his relationships, his feelings and his- did the astromech just wink at him?!   
Is that even possible?!   
Kallus lean forward a bit and give Chopper a focused stare.   
It ignores him, turning its attention back to Zeb, that’s pretty much done cleaning the hell-mech up. It gives a couple of whistles and… is Zeb blushing?!   
Whatever it was that the astromech said   
(Kallus still can’t for the life of him understand how anyone aboard the ship are able to perceive a word that it’s saying), it’s making Zeb’s ears twitch like crazy and a surprised laugh escape his lips  
(and is Kallus imagining things or did he just turn to look at him for a millisecond?   
He sits up straight just in case).   
And there it is again.   
The astromech turns to him, slowly, as Zeb is busy laughing, and shuts one of his visual-lights off, for just a second.   
Chopper just winked at him.   
That smooth little… Bantha fodder, e chu ta, bucket-clanker!   
Kallus is an adult. A highly decorated (former) officer, a battle-experienced soldier and a respectable man.   
But, apparently, he has a rival.   
A rival who also happens to be something as absurd, as utterly illogical as a stuck up, out of control astromech.   
Now this… This means war.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to you can leave a prompt for future chapters! Either one word or a sentence, it's all appreciated :)


End file.
